


Bury Me in Armor (When I'm Dead and Hit the Ground)

by justawks



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst & Humor, Angst & Romance, Blood & Gore, F/M, Fluff, Just angst and everything...really, Mentions of Death, Mentions of underage drinking, Romance, Violence, Zombie, Zombies, angst & fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justawks/pseuds/justawks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sky, held aloft by the screams of the dying, had an eerie, inky sameness to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bury Me in Armor (When I'm Dead and Hit the Ground)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Violet Hill by Coldplay
> 
> Here's my attempt at a Zombie!AU
> 
> Percabeth, etc.
> 
> All deaths should be expected (follows canon deaths through PJ+O)
> 
> Also, i made eye color a sort of symbolism in this story. In this modern!AU world, everyone has brown eyes. They become bright colors such as grey, green, or blue (winkwink, nudgenudge) after a person turns into a Walker.
> 
> I didn't know where to end it, so if you guys want me to continue, let me know. There's a lot more i could do with these lovely characters. 
> 
> Anywhoo, Enjoy!

Darkness. That's all there was. Above, beside, it swirled around him and crowded the edge of his vision.

Don't get him wrong. He wasn't festering in a pool of depression so deep that sunlight ceased to exist, it was just...the sky.

The sky, held aloft by the screams of the dying, had an eerie, inky sameness to it. The sky was a blanket of cold, a blanket of dark.

It had appeared weeks before the first walkers, and people didn't think much of it, much less him. 

He wanted to laugh at his past self.

Now, his days and nights were comprised of darkness. He woke to black, fed himself cold rations, dusty water, or nothing at all. He stood amidst the blackness, feeling along the jagged ground for his sword. 

His sword. He almost wanted to laugh. 

This was modern-day, so modern the apocalypse had already begun, and the only weapon he'd managed to get his hands on had been a rusted, bronze sword with the nonsensical yet somehow appropriate title of 'Riptide' carved into the blade at the hilt. He fondly fingered the now dull and bloodstained shard of metal. 

Not much longer now; he could feel it.

Something was coming. Maybe salvation. Probably death.

Their moans were getting louder, the crunching of their rotted feet against the festering ground almost like a gunshot in the otherwise silent day or night, he couldn't tell anymore. They had smelt him a few days ago, finally, and begun their slow yet tireless pursuit. He had run, but out of habit more so than the desire to live.

His mother had been taken from him; his will was gone. But he had promised her, before she had turned, before he'd had to end the life of the only person he's loved up until now, that he would do whatever it took to survive. 

So he ran.

Branches, shards of glass, paper, bullet casings, torn and dried limbs. He categorized every crunch as it sounded beneath his worn sneakers. It kept him calm, categorizing the sounds; it reminded him of home, somehow. 

He ran past apartment buildings, past shops with missing walls, homes with boarded windows. It looked like a war zone, rubble blocking the streets and empty cars lining the asphalt. It was a war, he supposed, but an impossible war against inevitable death. 

He ran past cross-streets, dodging the largest of obstacles with ease. If there was one good thing from this hell he was living, it was the level of physical fitness he'd obtained. 

He could hear them behind him, clamoring and roaring and screaming those terrible, terrible screams of the undead. He ran faster.

After minutes, hours, days maybe, he wasn't sure (he was never sure anymore), the screaming ceased. He slowed his feet to a steady jog, attempting to calm his heart rate but knowing it was futile. 

Above him, at the top of a steep but strangely clean hill, was his destination. Camp Half-Blood, his mother had called it, although he had no idea why. It was safe there, she had said, although he had no idea how.

He slowed to a walk now, so sure of his safety he missed the quiet snuffles behind him until it was too late. He felt a searing pain in his leg, looked down to see the jaws of a walker clamped securely down on the fleshy part of his right thigh. He could feel the poison travel through him, the eerie numbness his mother had warned him against chasing it through his veins. 

His vision tilted, his world spun. He cracked a wry smile. 

So this is how it ends, he thought. 

Somewhere within him, he found some sort of sadistic desire to keep moving, to keep fighting, despite the liquid death traveling through his now thoroughly tainted blood. He raised Riptide above his head, smashing it down upon the skull of the unfortunate, victorious Walker. Stunned, it unlatched it's now shattered jaw and collapsed upon the dusty ground of the hill. 

He staggered, dragging his right leg behind him, towards the camp. Maybe they could...no. He shook his head. No point raising his hopes only to die. Although, he mused, it'd be a fitting way to end his already pitiful life. He'd been born unlucky, he supposed.

He was near the top, but his eyesight was reduced to a thin slit as his eyes began to close of their own accord. There was a massive tree at the top of the hill, and what looked like a bearded man, but he honestly couldn't tell. 

The numbness had competed it's journey; he couldn't feel anything, not even the chill in the air.

He had reached the top now, and he collapsed onto his back, victorious. He smiled a bloody smile, and closed his eyes slowly.

His last thought was jumbled, but involved an apology to his deceased mother, he was sure.

***

When he awoke, he became aware of two things. First, there was light here, wherever 'here' was. Warm sunlight filtered through those fancy, slanted wood shades, and fell gently across the room. Second, the pair of bright grey eyes that could only have belonged to a walker. 

He sat suddenly, and terrified "Agh!" leaving his lips as his right hand searched, desperately, for the ever present handle of Riptide. He was met with only the cotton of a quilt, and he reared back in terror. 

"Calm down, i'm not a walker." the creature, for it couldn't possibly be human, in front of him spoke. He blinked rapidly, trying to get a better look. It sure looked like a human, a girl, actually, with clean (clean!) blonde hair that fell in ringlets over her shoulders and porcelain skin not marred with dirt or scars. She was pretty in a plain way, he mused, but then shook himself. Now really wasn't the time.

"You should be grateful Chiron was able to save you. I thought for sure you were a goner."

"I--agh..w-what are you?" he asked, stuttering.

She smirked, grey eyes flashing. "A half-blood, of course. Just like you."

"Uhh... a half-blood?" 

She nodded. "Yeah. Half-human, half...ya know."

He shook his head. "No, i don't know."

She smirked again, sadder this time. "Half walker."

***

The second time he woke, he reacted a little better. The sunlight he was expecting, the grey eyes too, but not the words that fell out of her mouth (nor the teasing tone in which she delivered them). 

"Try not to faint next time, okay?"

He furrowed his brows. "What?"

"You fainted, big guy." She was smirking again, eyes flashing with...was that humor?

"Shut up." he mumbled under his breath, looking down at the quilt that covered him up to his chest. A deep purple, it was comprised of a smiling silver moon surrounded by bright yellow stars. It was happy in a way he'd hadn't seen in...well, forever, really.

"I didn't say anything."

He looked up, right into her bright eyes. He'd intended to respond smartly, with some clever, crushing blow, but found himself distracted.

"You eyes, why are they like that?" he asked before he could stop himself. 

She turned and looked out the window, towards the sun. Her skin turned gold, and her hair seemed to light on fire in the light.

"I told you, i'm half-walker. Just like you. I got bit, but i made it back to camp in time for Chiron to give me the anti-venom he's developed. It's not foolproof, though. It stops the transformation, but it can't remove the traits you've already got. Hence, the eyes, and...you know..."

She pushed her sleeve up, showing off the ragged flesh that had started to take over. 

"You're lucky," she continued. "He was able to stop it before it spread past, well..." she produced a mirror from behind her and held it up for him.

The first thing he noticed was how long his hair was getting, the inky black hanging shaggily past his eyebrows. Second, he noticed the dark rings beneath his eyes. He cringed. 

Then he noticed his eyes. Gone was the standard chocolate brown that every human had nowadays, replaced with a startling, vibrant emerald color. 

He flinched back, dropping the mirror into his lap. "Wha--?"

His breathing began to speed up, and it was only the warm, soft hand on his forearm that brought him back to earth. 

"Yeah. Get it now, Camp Half-Blood?"

He nodded, bewildered. 

"But, my eyes..."

Her grey eyes grew cold. 

"You're alive, be grateful." she snapped.

It was all he could do to nod softly before she was gone, leaving the scent of lavender and the impression of flashing grey in her wake.

***

It was a week before he was strong enough the leave the bed, and even then he needed Chiron - the bearded man from the hill - to help steady him. He was led slowly to the porch, sat down in a whicker rocking chair across the card table from Chiron (in an identical chair) and offered a beer.

It was, oddly enough, the strangest turn of events he'd experienced since this whole "Zombie Apocalypse" thing had begun.

"Uhh...what?"

The older man sighed, stroking his full brown beard. "Do you want a beer? It's a simple question."

"But...i'm only 17."

"So?" Chiron asked. "In case you haven't noticed, the world is ending. Not really the time to worry about breaking laws, is it? Besides, i find beer helps you rugged survivor types relax, and actually get decent sleep, which you'll need in the coming months."

He blanched. Then he shook himself.

"You know...why not?" 

He was handed a beer can and opened it with an easy snap. He settled back in his chair, and looked up to see the older man's eyes appraising him carefully.

"So, uh..." he trailed off slowly.

"Percy," he offered.

"Percy," the older man began again. "Tell me about yourself."

So he did.

He told Chiron of his life growing up in New York City. His life of school after school, counselor after counselor, home after home. He told Chiron about his eventual return to his wonderful, beautiful, unfortunate mother and her terrible, terrible husband. He told of the three hell-ish yet wonderful years before the Walkers had come. 

He quieted for a few moments, sipping away at his can.

"It was a tuesday when the Walkers finally entered NYC," he said slowly. "I remember because i had to go to counseling every Tuesday, and my mom and i were running late. We ran out of the apartment; i'm not even sure if we locked it." He smiled fondly at the memory of his mother.

"It happened so fast. One second we were walking down towards the Subway, and the next people were screaming and running and...you know. They just rounded the corner and started tearing into people. We ran and ran and ran and we made it to an empty street and i thought we were fine, but...she wasn't. One of 'em had scratched her or something, i'm not really sure, but she didn't notice and then she did and she just started screaming and..."

He trailed off, looked down at the empty can and was surprised to see it clenched tight in his fist. 

"She told me to come here, she said it's be safe. Said she'd heard it on the radio, mentioned something about a healer, biological medicine, anti-venom. She was talking so fast, i don't really know what she said. She told me to kill her, but i didn't have anything and i refused and i could see her turning. Her eyes were turning bright green real slow, and her skin was getting all bubbly. She just...she ran up this fire escape before i could stop her and she was so far ahead of me and i didn't know what was happening, and...she got to the top and i told her to stop and she didn't listen. She tried to jump, but her foot got caught in a chain and i caught up to her and tried to get her out. She kept saying 'Promise me, Percy. Promise me.' and i was just trying to get her out but, i guess she turned, because her eyes were fully green and her skin was grey and she tried to bite me, i think, so i reared back and she just...she fell. Six stories, on her head. Didn't have a chance."

He blinked the tears out of his eyes, looking at his lap. "Sorry," he whispered. 

Chiron shook his head. "No, no. Nothing to be sorry about. That was obviously very..." he struggled to find the word.

"Scarring?" Percy offered.

"Perhaps," said the older man. "It's only fair you get to talk about it, anyway."

Percy looked up now, green eyes boring into brown. "I'm not sure fair is the right word, sir."

Chiron cracked a small, sad smile. "I'm afraid you're right, Percy."

***

Her name was Annabeth Chase. 

She was sixteen, and had been shipped here by her eccentric and devastatingly wealthy father a week before the first walkers had arrived.

It had happened on a rescue mission.

Two survivors had met up and managed to hack a cell tower, sending S.O.S. messages until someone responded. That someone was Annabeth, who had apparently inherited her father's talent with technology and hacked a different tower remotely. She'd gotten their coordinates, geared up, and gone after the two without telling anyone, even Chiron.

They had thought they were home free, she said. They thought they were safe. They lowered their guard. 

Thalia had sacrificed herself, Annabeth mentioned callously, casually. She'd dived into the crowd of the Walkers, let them tear away at her flesh...

Annabeth trails off there. 

She and the other survivor, Luke, had been scratched. She'd thought they were done for. 

Apparently not. 

This Percy said with a wry smile. 

No. She shook her head. Apparently not.

***

He had been there three weeks before he was finally able to leave the 'Big House', as they called it there. 

He'd been set up in the so-called Poseidon cabin, mostly because of his sword, they said.

The because of his eyes was implied.

It was spartan at best, with just a bed, a small dresser, and an odd marble fountain attached to the wall. The ceiling, however, was covered in glittering white tiles, and even on the blackest of nights the darkness couldn't reach him.

It was comfortable, and safe, which had been such a rarity in his world it seemed almost false. He could sit, or read, or write, or draw, or train with Riptide, polished and gleaming now.

Slowly but surely Annabeth brought him out of his shell. She introduced him to all the other 'campers'. They called them campers like some kind of private joke, but it wasn't all that funny

First was Luke, the other survivor who had traveled with Annabeth. With sandy hair and these glowing golden eyes, he was devastatingly handsome in a completely disturbing way. He looked too perfect, too pristine, and he would eye Annabeth with something akin to hunger. Percy decided he didn't like Luke all that much.

Next was Silena. Or rather, silenaandcharlie. The boy had introduced himself as Beckendorf, Charles Beckendorf, but Silena faithfully called him Charlie despite his huffs and puffs about it. Percy didn't have much to say about either of them, only that they were so totally in love it made his heart hurt a little watching them interact.

(The second these Walkers had descended, love had become a myth to Percy. They were just a painful reminder.)

Last was Nico, who disturbed Percy a lot more than he'd like to admit. Hair darker than Percy's own hung nearly to his slumped shoulders, and his gaunt eyes look black in most lights. His skin was olive, but was so pallid and wane it looked nearly white. All black clothes hung off his thin frame, and metal bits and bobbles glittered on his hands, wrists, belt, and even ears.

In all honestly, he looked more like the undead than the Walkers did.

It was his sister, they had said. He couldn't save her.

That was it.

***

Luke was the first to go.

It was the sort of surprise that wasn't all that surprising.

Luke and Percy had been on a small scouting mission, just a mile past the border. They'd been briefed by Annabeth, trained and prepared with Chiron, and fully equipped with mail armor. (What was this, the medieval era? Percy had thought).

A few Walkers had appeared, just five. Easy enough for two guys with massive swords and f*cking armor. But Luke had panicked, pushed Percy towards them, abandoned him, ran away. It was like the Walkers knew, though, knew how wrong that was, because they'd abandoned Percy in a terrified, huddled mess.

All alone, Luke hadn't stood a chance.

***

Next to go, horrifyingly enough, was Beckendorf.

Once again, it was just a scouting mission, just him and Percy.

Difference was, Beckendorf wasn't a coward. There had been 25, at least, that time. Like Thalia, he'd made the decision all on his own.

***

Things were getting quieter, but the disturbing kind of (dangerous, terrifying) quiet.

That dreaded darkness was settling, encroaching over even the so-called safe lines of Camp Half-Blood.

It was over a breakfast of toast and cold peaches that Annabeth finally said what needed to be said.

"We need to leave."

Nods from all around.

"There's," Annabeth cleared her throat. "There's a so-called safe haven 15 miles north of here. It's the government or something, and they have massive amounts of supplies, concrete walls, all these security measures. They even have medical supplies. It's just...they sent out a message telling any survivors to come, but i have no idea if they'll let us in."

She was met with silence.

"So...do we want to go?" she asked quietly.

"Why not?"

This was Nico, voice quiet and deep.

"It's just..."

That was Annabeth again.

"If we go and they don't let us in, we're dead. There's no way we can travel 30 miles with supplies and weapons and still be able to outrun the Walkers. It doesn't matter how strong or well-equiped we are. It'll come down to speed, and we just won't have enough...They don't get tired, don't need to sleep or eat or anything."

It's silent for a while, everyone mulling over the options.

"I think we should go." said Percy.

"Why?!" exclaimed Silena. "You know the risks. If we don't make it in we're done for, Percy! You can't just-"

"Silena. If we stay here much longer we're done for. If we have to die, we might as well die trying to live.

***

They left exactly 7 days later.

They walked, through the rough, dense forest that surrounded camp and along roads and through abandoned warehouses and over pile after pile of rotting bodies. It was a shock to their systems, after being blessedly separate from the chaos for those blissful two months.

They didn't see any Walkers for the first two days, but on the third they came across a small group of about ten. The Walkers looked intrigued; they probably hadn't seen any healthy humans for a while, but they outran them easily.

It was clear for another day. Blue skies and sunny weather foretold hope, but they knew enough by now to know that in actuality it probably spelled disaster. They were so close, could see the camp in the distance, but...

(Percy was reminded of his little episode on the hill outside camp, and almost laughed at the parallels. Almost.)

The crowd was massive, fifty at least, and spread out all across the open plain. Dust swirled in the hot air, and the sun beat down on them from above.

Percy felt cold anyways.

The Walkers approached slowly, teeth barred in grotesque grins. The faint smiles on their faces echoed in their eyes. They looked almost intelligent.

"What?" Annabeth whispered to herself, on Percy's right. "Do they look..."

She trailed off, but he nodded anyways. "Smart?" he offered. She nodded. He waited a second, before speaking again. "Yeah."

Silena ran first, a (sudden) shrill cry echoing across the mostly silent field. Blonde hair streaking behind her, she ran far to the left.

They all knew what she was doing. After "Charlie" had died, she hadn't been the same.

The gleaming eyes of the Walkers followed her form. Seeing opportunity, Percy latched onto Annabeth's arm and ran. His promise to his mother echoed in his ears. Promise me, Percy. Promise me. Riptide bounced painfully against his hip, and Annabeth's grip was uncomfortably tight, but for the first time in at least a year he felt...alive.

(He decided then to change his promise. He'd do whatever it took to stay alive, sure. But he'd sacrifice himself if it meant the lithe blonde with the stormy grey eyes and the lavender perfume could live a few more days.) 

They approached the fence quickly, not bothering to slow themselves. Nico puffed to a stop a few seconds later; he was missing half of a shirt, clearly ripped away by a desperate Walker, but his skin bore no wounds. Chiron was breathing heavily, as per his age, but his cheeks were ruddy and eyes bright with hope.

The fence was tall, tightly woven barbs of wire interlocked between 15 foot tall pillars of cement. Massive spikes adorned the top, slanted ever so slightly so that they loomed above whoever stood beneath them. A solid cement gate stood exactly in the middle, surface smooth and without a latch.

It could only open from the inside; their fate was out of their hands.

Breaths bated, they waited. The Walkers were still occupied by Silena, Percy knew. They'd all be dead by now if they weren't.

A woman approched the gate slowly from the other side, flanked by a small dark skinned girl in shorts and a blond man. "Who are you?" 

Her voice was powerful, hair dark. She was tall, probably taller than Percy, and wore dark jeans and boots paired with a deep purple top and a bullet proof vest.

"Survirors," Annabeth said, voice uncharacteristically quiet. "We were staying about 15 miles away, but our, uh, camp was overrun."

"Your eyes," the woman said simply.

Annabeth nodded, as though this was expected. Percy supposed it was.

"It's the results of an anti-venom I developed," spoke Chiron. "I assure you, they're completely safe."

The woman nodded slowly. She turned on her heel, strutting away with her followers falling in step behing her. Percy's heart sunk, and he began making plans, tightening his grip on Riptide and his grip on Annabeth's hand.

"Let them in."

He released a breath, smile lighting the edges of his mouth.

The gates creaked open, slowly but surely. They were led inside, cautious eyes following their every step as though these newcomers would reveal themselves suddenly and attack. They were shown to a doctor, looked over, and proclaimed healthy. Chiron stayed behind, already deep in conversation about cross nebulizers and blood transfusions and slow spreads and other medical jargon Percy couldn't understand.

They were shown the barracks next, with a girl's side and a boy's side. It was through some sort of unspoken agreement that Annabeth set her things down on the boy's side, next to Percy's chosen cot.

Their guide pointedly didn't mention it.

Next they were led to the common areas, where they were met with curious (suspicious, dangerous) stares. They shuffled to the corner, sitting in a small huddle, just Nico, Annabeth, and him.

They washed up quickly that night, with soap (soap!), and ate a hot meal, and went to sleep on actual beds with full stomachs for the first time in what felt like forever.

Percy didn't remove his hand from Annabeth's the entire time.

***

They woke the next morning and it felt like a dream. Still warm and safe and mostly full. Percy and Annabeth were still wrapped around each other, lying on their sides in the too-small cot.

They got up slowly, dressed and washed and made their way to the common area. Again, they were met with stares. This time, however, a few teenaged guys in the corner called Percy over, and Nico was distracted by some girl with long black hair and olive skin.

Annabeth was left alone.

"Hey.

The voice came from behind her. She turned quickly, meeting the warm brown eyes of a red headed girl.

"Is it true?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"Is what true?"

"About your eyes. Are you really cured?"

Annabeth shakes her head. She looked up, across the room, and grey eyes met green. Percy smiled softly, gave a little wave. She responded in kind. She turned back to the girl.

"Not cured. Just saved."


End file.
